


Silence

by teh_gelfling



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teh_gelfling/pseuds/teh_gelfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Not sure where this came from. Also not sure it makes a lot of sense, but I'm fairly happy with it. Meh.</p><p>If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure where this came from. Also not sure it makes a lot of sense, but I'm fairly happy with it. Meh.
> 
> If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.

Y'know, I think the hardest thing about this war is pulling the trigger. Every time I set up a shot, every time a target comes into my sights, and I tighten up my finger on the trigger in preparation to fire, silence surrounds me. I mean, I know there's still things going on around me and out on the field, but I'm so focussed that I don't hear any of that. There is only the silence, and it is the worst thing.  
  
That silence just before I fire. In it, I hear the screams of my family. I see frames wedged into places they were never meant to be, in positions no mech could ever duplicate while alive. In that silence, I feel the splash of hot energon on my face, in my mouth. The stench of it so thick that all I want is to purge, but I can't, because there's nothing _to_ purge. The taste of it so sweet, yet so disgusting, because I _know_ where it came from.  
  
I have my orders. Prowl told me to set up on the ridge here above the power plant. It's a good position, too. I can see everything, but there's just enough cover to make spotting me difficult. I pull the parts of my powerful sniper rifle from my subspace and assemble it. Doesn't even take me a minute any more. I check it over when I'm finished to make sure everything's in working order, moves smoothly. Don't want any problems. The most I'll get is two shots from here, then I'll have to move.  
  
I lay as flat as my armour will let me, which really isn't flat at all, since the nose of my Earth alt mode sticks out so far. Maybe I should see if Ratchet will change my transformation sequence to fix that. It's annoying, but I'm getting used to it, and my accuracy doesn't really suffer for it anyway. Really, I could make the shot while standing, but then I'd be a glaring target, what with the sun shining off my silver paint. It's not flashy like Sunstreaker or Sideswipe, but it's definitely noticeable on a sunny day. Like today.  
  
Now I wait. I watch for the perfect shot, both through the scope on my rifle and with my normal vision. When I was first learning, it was really hard to train myself to use both visual feeds. They're hard to reconcile, because one is a distance view and one is a close-up. I can't count how many times I messed up that first vorn. There was one battle that I fragged up so completely that I couldn't leave my quarters without a guard for three orns after. Mechs didn't like me much after that. Although a lot of mechs really didn't like me before that, either, because I talk so much.  
  
And that brings me back to the silence. I talk so I can't hear the silence. I can't handle it. So many things I can't handle since Praxus. The silence is the worst, though. It's a little easier to deal with the tiny quarters I've been assigned on the Ark because no one can room with me. And spilled energon won't send me into a glitch any more, which is great because someone is constantly dropping their ration in the Rec room. Okay, well, not constantly, but often enough that it's no surprise to anyone any more. But the way it splashes... the patterns... I just... I can't...  
  
Starscream is almost in perfect position now. If he'd move just a little bit to the left... slaggit. I wait some more. My job is to try to take out the Decepticon command structure, because I'm such a good shot. But I'm not sure I can today. I mean, I want to. I _need_ to. It's not just my job, I _want_ to make these mechs suffer the way I have, the way Praxus did. But my processor just will not settle.  
  
I take a deep vent and hold it until the air is too hot to bear any longer. I let it out slowly as my optics slide closed. Just for a second. I can't spare any more time to try to centre myself. My sensor panels register changes in air pressure, wind speed and direction. Proximity.  
  
Without even opening my optics, I turn and fire. My target doesn't have time to scream. When I do finally look, I have to turn away immediately. The mech doesn't have a face any more. Actually, he doesn't have much of a _head_. My fuel tank roils. The only consolation is that it was a Decepticon. I'm so glad the other Autobots don't try to approach me during battle any more. It's almost impossible to turn those reflexes off.  
  
I can feel my frame starting to shake. I need to end this. I look over the battlefield, sizing up targets, trying to pick ones that will cause the most inconvenience to my enemies. I finally manage to settle myself into 'sniper mode' and the shakes stop. My fuel tank settles. My processor begins the task of assigning tactical values to each Decepticon. Obviously Megatron is the most important to take out, followed by Soundwave, then Starscream. Hook. Vortex. Motormaster.  
  
Megatron and Prime are grappling right in the thick of it all. I focus on them for the moment, hoping that Megatron will slip up somehow. He doesn't. But just as my attention is moving elsewhere, Prime goes down. My rifle is aimed immediately, and I tighten up on the trigger.  
  
And the silence envelops me.  
  
I vent deeply, slowly, as Praxus burns around me. My finger gently, so gently squeezes the trigger once, twice.  
  
Two bolts shoot toward the leader of the Decepticons, one right after the other.  
  
He doesn't even have time to react.  
  
Time stops. The silence stretches on. I hear the screaming, the bombs whistling, the buildings crashing down around me. I smell the fear, the acrid scent of burning circuitry and wires, the thick and sweet odour of energon, the caustic smoke. I feel the heat as one of those bombs explodes outside of my home, feel the walls blow out, the ceiling cave in. And suddenly I'm trapped again, just like then, and I can feel the jagged metal of the ceiling cutting into my stomach, into my sensor panels. One is already severed, the other nearly so. It's agonising.  
  
And time snaps back into motion, yet the silence remains. But along with the sounds of my home being destroyed, along with all of the sensory ghosts, I see Megatron collapse, and he's the grey of death. Who shot him? Wait, was that me? Have... have I finally avenged Praxus by killing the one who killed my family? But no. Megatron wasn't the only one responsible for that. I don't know who was there, actually, so all Decepticons are responsible by default.  
  
Before I realise, my rifle is firing again and again. I take no pride in following the sniper's motto: One shot, one kill. But with the enemy in disarray from the loss of their leader, they are so easy to pick off. I continue dropping mechs until hands grab me.  
  
Immediately, I turn to fire, but my rifle's no longer in my grip. More hands on my arms; two mechs now, I think. I am lifted slightly off the ground so it's harder to struggle.  
  
They should have taken my doorwings into account.  
  
It doesn't feel good at all, in fact, it hurts quite a bit, but I beat at the mechs restraining me with twitches of my wings. I bring my feet into play as well, kicking out as much as I'm able to the sides and back.  
  
It works. I'm back on the ground, and I'm not going down without a fight.  
  
And then I'm wrapped in enormous arms from behind and this mech is big enough that I know there is no escape. But I'm an Autobot, and I'm Praxian, and I can't just give up. Have to keep what dignity I have left.  
  
I brace myself for the end and hope it'll go quickly.  
  
But nothing happens.  
  
Okay, well, nothing that I expected happens. Those arms around me... they're not hard and unyielding. The mech is not trying to kill me. In fact, he only seems to be keeping me from hurting myself or someone else.  
  
The silence is deafening, but maybe... is that my designation? Someone is calling me, I think.  
  
I still can't see anything but Praxus. Or... wait. Is that mech looking at me? Is he alive? I think he is, but how can that be? Look, there's another! Bright optics glowing in the gloom. They must be alive. The arms around me loosen, and I feel a hand on a doorwing. I tense, more than I already am, but all it's doing is stroking the upper edge and the flat of the panel.  
  
I focus on that. It's... comforting. Soothing. Something my carrier used to do when I was distressed so long ago.  
  
The silence... isn't so deafening now. My designation is definitely being called. Slowly, slowly, I come back to myself. I'm not in Praxus, I'm on Earth. And I'm not alone. Prowl is right in front of me. He looks worried. As I look around I see that everyone present looks worried. Ratchet, the twins, even Cliffjumper and _Huffer_ of all mechs. The large hand on my doorwing keeps moving and now I can feel the subsonic rumble from the mech holding me. That, too, is comforting.  
  
Prowl is talking. Is he talking to me? I think he must be, so I try to focus on making out his words.  
  
He is making no sense. How can the war be over? This is the war that never ends.  
  
Then the mech behind me speaks, and I know his words must be true. This is none other than Optimus Prime, and he would never lie to me.  
  
The war is over. At least here.  
  
Maybe... maybe now I can start healing.  
  
I wriggle around and bury my face in my Prime's armour. My hands clutch onto the windows on his chest. And I cry. I cry for my home and all the mechs killed there. I cry for all the mechs I've killed, Autobot and Decepticon alike. Because, yes, I've killed Autobots. Not on purpose, never that. But it happens, usually when someone sneaks up on me when all my battle routines are active. I can't shut them down fast enough, and like the Decepticon earlier, I don't think, I just shoot. The results are never pretty, and I always end up in medbay on watch for a few orns after.  
  
I must have cried myself into recharge. Optimus is gone. But Prowl is here, in... medbay, great. But he's cuddling me and that's one of the greatest feelings in the entire universe.  
  
And for once, the silence does not ring with screams of terror.


End file.
